Stormy Blue
by StormyInk
Summary: Makoto idly wonders if anyone could decipher his favorite color, along with why he'd come to love this inky shade. One shot.


_I own none of these characters_

* * *

Makoto was not what anyone would call a mysterious person. They'd call him bright, open and friendly; traits he was proud of and never hid. However, they wouldn't ever guess his favorite color. His eyes were a soft green, as were the sweaters or shirts or the strips in the swim shorts he usually wore. Like the moss green sweater he was wearing now.

But he'd fallen in love with the color blue—a very specific shade of ink, stormy blue.

Makoto sighed as his eyes swept over the beach for the billionth time, searching for him.

He recalled that day many years ago when he'd been picked on and Haru had found him crying. He'd often gotten bullied because of his sheer size, and while he was not a coward he was _gentle _and more often than not he found himself hiding in secluded corners or bathroom stalls.

Haru had found him on one such occasion, and sat beside him silently.

"Are you okay?" Haru asked quietly.

Makoto nodded and sniffled a little, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his green sweater. "They called me ugly. They called me an overgrown, green eyed yeti, Haru." He'd chuckled a little waterily.

Haru looked at him with those fiery blue eyes, curtained flimsily by sleek black hair. "You're not ugly."

Makoto nodded, unconvinced.

"Makoto…"

He'd looked up to find Haru leaning towards him. His small pale hand touched his shoulder gently, rubbing the soft green cotton sweater between his fingertips. "You're not ugly." He repeated softly. "I like it when you wear green. It makes your eyes brighter."

And then he'd leaned in closer.

"Haru…?"

Their lips had touched—briefly, innocently, chastely.

They'd been nine, at the time.

And he'd worn green for him ever since.

And no one ever suspected that stormy blue was his favorite color.

* * *

He found him sitting on a small wooden table at the edge of the shore.

Haru didn't turn as Makoto slid onto the table beside him.

The whole team had been searching for him for quite a while and when they'd spotted him he'd asked them all to let him deal with it. They'd left them a little reluctantly. He knew what had happened with Rin had upset him, knew that the rarity of Haruka _being _upset amplified the situation.

And he was worried.

Makoto simply looked at him for a few moments solemnly. Haru was dripping wet—which wasn't really surprising since he'd just stepped out of the ocean—his mostly bare body covered in chills as the icy breeze raked over them.

"Haru, where are your clothes?"

Haru spoke quietly as he gestured to a balled up bundle of damp clothing beside him. "I threw them on the shore and the wind pushed them into the water."

Makoto smiled a little ruefully, removing his sweater. He slid it over Haru's shoulders. "Put this on."

Haru obeyed, sliding his glistening arms through the sleeves a little languidly. "You shouldn't be here, Makoto."

Makoto sighed and nodded. He'd known that Haru would want to be left alone, yet it didn't help soothe the sting he felt at his words any less.

As if he read his thoughts, Haru spoke again. "I didn't mean I didn't want you to be here." His shoulder brushed his lightly. "I meant because of the ocean…"

Makoto's smile returned. "I'm fine, Haru-chan."

Haru looked a little sullen.

"Are you ready to go home now?" Makoto asked, touching the top of his hand tentatively.

Haru shook his head grimly. "I want to swim a little more."

Another cold breeze ripped over the shore, making Makoto squint a little in dismay. "Looks like there's a storm coming, Haru. You could become ill." His fingers gripped Haru's in urging.

He felt his pulse flutter when Haru linked their fingers. "I'll be fine."

Makoto shivered a little, feeling chills rake across his skin.

Haru glanced at him with a small frown. "You're cold?"

Makoto shook his head. "Do you want to talk about what happened with…with Rin?"

Haru turned his blue eyes back to the ocean. "I don't."

Makoto nodded, rubbing Haru's damp palm with his thumb. After several moments Haru leaned back and sprawled back over the table, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Makoto…"

"Yes?"

"Forgive me."

Makoto frowned and leaned over him. "For?"

Haru's mouth was a grim line. "For losing."

Makoto gripped the side of Haru's hard waist, his gaze hardening. "There's nothing to forgive, Haruka. I lost too."

Haru turned away. "That's different."

Makoto released his hand to brush away his arm. He cradled his cheek, forcing him to look up at him. "How is it different, Haru?" He scanned his features; the pale skin, the narrow jaw, the damp silkiness of his ink black hair.

How long had he loved this boy?

He splayed his fingers across Haru's defined stomach, only thinly covered by his sweater, felt the way Haru shuddered beneath him. "You didn't win. With a little training we could win next time."

He saw Haru's pulse pick up at the base of his damp throat, saw the way those blue eyes darkened.

The wind blew through again, lifting his shirt up a little and making him shiver. Haru's pale, icy fingers sifted up his back.

Makoto shut his eyes when Haruka's fingers sunk into his hair. He tugged him down, his mouth catching his. Makoto shifted over him instantly, crouching over his body as he angled his lips over his, deepening the kiss. Makoto heard—_felt_—Haru give a sharp inhalation beneath him, his hands tightening in his hair.

He smelled of clean water, of the ocean—_tasted_ like it. His eyes were hooded, the stormy azure peeking through long black lashes as his tongue swept into his mouth. He broke the kiss for a reluctant breath and looked down at Haru affectionately, the boys eyes as blue as the water he breathed. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip sensually.

"Are you ready to go now, Haru-chan? I'm a bit hungry." He smiled a little self-deprecatingly. "I was hoping I could stay at your place tonight. Maybe we can get some mackerel?"

He saw Haru's eyes light up a little and stifled his chuckle as he helped him onto his feet. He grabbed Haru's clothes and kept his other hand firmly in his grasp.

"Let's go home, Haru-chan."

Haru nodded and let him lead them away.

* * *

Makoto leaned back in his chair and stretched, looking a little more than sleepy. He smiled at him. "I'll wash the dishes since you cooked."

Haru watched Makoto for a while as he cleaned up. He was limber despite his deceptively large size. In the water his body was smooth and powerful. With him he was insistent and gentle. Careful and thorough and knowing.

He stood.

"You're going to take a bath?" Makoto asked him over his shoulder, the crack of thunder nearly drowning out the question.

Haru nodded.

Makoto smiled. "Don't take too long."

Haru took a deep breath and stepped into his bathroom, removing his clothes. He sunk into the water up to his nose, holding his breath and trying to slow his pulse.

He could hear the rain beginning to pour outside.

He was lulled by the bath water, the soothing sway of it. But he remembered the way Makoto had looked at him through his gold-brown lashes, desire wrapped in gentleness. He remembered the feel of his large hand clasped over his abdomen, the way his fingertips grazed over him in small rough circles.

The way he had tasted when he'd kissed him.

For once, he got out of the bath without much reluctance.

He dried himself off as he stepped into his bedroom. He found Makoto sitting up—and asleep—in a chair, his large frame dwarfing its size. His neck was bent at an awkward angle, and he looked a breath away from falling over. Haru walked over to him and touched his shoulder tentatively. "Makoto…?"

Makoto jumped awake. "Wha—?"

"You fell asleep."

Makoto stood—his green eyes flickering over Haru's body. He'd only wrapped a towel about his hips and he saw Makoto's eyes linger over his stomach.

"You're tired." Haru murmured, stepping away. "Go to sleep."

Makoto reached out, hooking his fingers into the towel and holding him in place. "Haru…"

He looked up at those glass green eyes and felt his lungs tighten.

Makoto tugged him closer, luring him towards the bed.

"You're tired…" Haru half protested, shutting his eyes as Makoto pushed him onto his back.

"I'm awake now, Haru-chan." His large hands tugged the towel away, baring his body to his gaze.

He pulled Makoto's shirt off of him and kissed him gently. Idly, he wondered how long he'd been in love with him. Since they were children? Since he'd first watched him cry and it had felt like a splinter in his heart and lungs? Since they'd first held hands? Since the first clumsy, innocent kiss?

The kiss deepened, and he moaned a little when Makoto bit his lip.

Their kisses weren't so innocent now.

They crawled onto the bed and forgot about the storm until morning.

* * *

Haru woke reluctantly. He felt Makoto's large, hard arm wrap around his waist and tuck him into his chest. He cracked his eyes open and peered up.

His green eyes gazed down at him happily. "Morning, Haru-chan."

He inhaled deeply. "Morning." He looked freshly showered and dressed. Had he really slept all morning?

"I made you breakfast." Makoto informed him, running his fingers into his hair and soothing him. "I have to go take my brother and sister to our aunt's place."

Haru nodded and nuzzled Makoto's palm.

Makoto smiled and kissed him quickly, then pulled away. "I can't find my sweater."

Haru sat up reluctantly. "I have it on."

Makoto's leaf green gaze softened and Haru felt his skin heat up. "Keep it."

Haru shook his head but before he could pull it off Makoto snatched his wrists. "I've told you I like you in shades of blue," Makoto kissed him softly, weakening him. "But I like you in my sweaters and shirts, too."

He walked with him towards his door, watched from the window inside his kitchen as Makoto walked down the street.

He gazed down at his sweater, inhaled the clean spicy scent Makoto wore. It was a few sizes too big for him but it was soft and warm and inviting. It symbolized Makoto perfectly. He glanced out the window again in search of those large, powerful shoulders and messy brown hair.

He wondered if anyone knew his favorite color was a soft, bright green.

* * *

**A/N-I was flipping through radio stations when I heard Dorothy Moore crooning _Misty Blue _and the story kinda flew out of my fingertips from there.**

**This was just a lot of wispy, feathery fluffiness, I think. I know I said I'd write about any ship but this one tugs at my heart strings like they're plucking at a damn harp. I've been chewing my pens into twisted warps of plastic because of this pairing. I've finally gotten it out of my blood, I think.**

**_At least until the next episode. _ **


End file.
